He has traversed the vast lands of plains and mountain peaks, from prairies that speak auroras, to the highest mountain peaks in greens. It has been centuries, countless of hundreds that had worthlessly passed.

Deliverance was freedom he cannot unbind himself from, his anger formed shackles of despair and resentment. Although his venture led him nowhere, his only form of solace was the hope of seeking out someone he cannot remember. There’s ire in his heart, speaking in muffled syllables and crying out a name he desperately cannot seem to recall — it was frustrating. His lifeline, his only purpose to continue on, was to traverse an endless path, looking for an elusive soul.

But he knows this person, the gentle and shameful hands that held his face hundreds of years before, and the choked utterance—they cried for him, turning him into a person he, himself, cannot even seem to recognize either, and pleaded with regrets. Still, he knew his heart vowed love to this person.

His gaze fell, occupied with the mysterious figure before him. Bathed in wariness, it seems as if you shared the same sentiment as him. It was not a common occurrence to cross paths with a person in this area, where wolves are residing and blankets of snow cascading from the gloomy skies.

“You.” Upon the moment he had his sight casted onto you, his heart almost met its end. This time, he’s faced with a figure clad in daintiness and an alluring sense of mystery, but he knows this; because this was the face of someone he had known years ago, he cannot be wrong. You may wear a different skin, bear the name of a stranger, and pretend to be someone you were not — but he can vaguely recognize that same look on your face. The same face ridden in guilt and longing. Of faint hatred.

“This is where you have been.” He states simply. “For hundreds of years, I walked these lands in search of your presence, but it seems like you found consolation in wearing the skin of people you don’t know. You’ve been hiding from me—is it out of guilt? Anger?"